


You Gotta Ring Them Bells

by Tinnean



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universes, First Times, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinnean/pseuds/Tinnean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Ellison works for an answering service. His favorite client is an anthropologist who's left a swath of broken hearts behind him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Gotta Ring Them Bells

## You Gotta Ring Them Bells

by Tinnean

Author's website:  <http://www.angelfire.com/fl5/tinnssinns>

They belong to Petfly, who just has no regard for their fine bods!

Thanks to the ladies of MME for letting me play in their backyard. Thanks to Silk for commiserating when Jim got difficult about bottoming. It helped. Thanks to Gail for the beta, and the loan of a certain someone who showed Jim that a real man isn't afraid to go belly down.

This first appeared in the MME zine, The Many Faces of Jim 2, and was written because Garett Maggart didn't mind the slash, just that Blair always seemed to bottom. Mara bunta is an attack by army ants, which occurs in South America. See The Naked Jungle to see what they can do. The quote on Jim's bulletin board is by Helen Rowland, American writer, journalist, humorist. #### indicates change of POV.

* * *

Incacha, the Chopec shaman, promised me that somewhere out in the great, wide world was my Guide. And with patience, we would find each other. 

When? 

* * *

Who would have thought a flower child, someone who dabbled in sex and rock and roll, all the while claiming she got high enough on those two to never need drugs, could give birth to a son who graduated college with honors at eighteen, and had a string of letters after his name and a doctorate in anthropological studies by the time he was twenty-four? 

That was me, Blair Sandburg. 

I had my first girl just before graduation, and it was... nice. 

I had my first guy later that same summer, and it was... amazing. 

Through the years I bounced back and forth between the sexes, enjoying the lovers who wandered in and out of my life, welcoming them with pleasure, but letting them go without even a casual regret. 

One day I came across a monograph by Sir Richard Burton, the explorer. The part that intrigued me discussed sentinels, individuals with enhanced senses. They predicted the weather, tracked game and enemies, and generally saw to the welfare of their tribe. 

I was fascinated by the topic, but it seemed to me that a Sentinel would need someone to watch out for him while he watched out for the tribe. A Guide, if you will, who would be there to keep the Sentinel from zoning on sensory overload and help him dial down his senses. 

The more I researched the subject, the more I regretted there were no such men. So I wrote my first novel about a Sentinel who protected his tribe, and the Guide who protected this Sentinel. Remarkably I discovered there was a market for this type of adventure story, and a series was born. The Sentinel Strikes Back; Return of the Sentinel; The Sentinel vs. Mara Bunta, my personal favorite. The titles just grew and grew. 

I thought I was happy with the way my life was going. And if I felt something was missing, well, I'd travel to another country, write another book, take another lover to my bed, and wait for the feeling to pass. 

And then I was knocked on my ass, figuratively speaking, of course, when I picked up a magazine at a newsstand and stared into ice blue eyes that glared at the camera. I knew those eyes; the first time I had seen them had been at a book signing, and I'd looked up from scrawling my name in a book to tumble helplessly into their depths. "Thanks, Chief," he'd said softly, and his fingers had touched the back of my hand. And then he was gone. 

Hastily I looked up the featured article, about an Army captain who'd headed up an anti-insurgent team on a mission to South America. The team had been wiped out, and he had been listed as dead, but had survived in the jungles of Peru for eighteen months living with the Chopecs, a primitive tribe. 

By the time I finished reading about the man, I had a very strong feeling that he was a Sentinel. And I had an even stronger feeling that it was necessary that I meet him. I paid for the magazine, stuffed it in my backpack and called my publisher, only to find that Captain James Joseph Ellison had vanished. 

* * *

"Dr. Sandburg's residence. No, Miss Tremont, I'm afraid he's not in the country at this time. If you'd like to leave a message with me, I'll see he gets it as soon as he returns. You love him and miss him. Yes, ma'am, I've written that down." 

"Dr. Sandburg's residence. I'm sorry, Mr. Jameson, he's out of the country right now. If you'd like to leave a message with me... You love him and miss him. Yes, of course, I'll be sure he gets this." 

"Dr. Sandburg's residence. Oh, good evening, Ms. Sandburg. No, your son is on a book signing tour just now. Oh, you liked that perfume he chose for you? He'll be so happy to know you're pleased with it." 

"Dr. Sandburg's residence..." 

I knew a hell of a lot about Blair Sandburg, the anthropologist cum novelist. I was his answering service. 

* * *

After the debacle in Peru, I resigned from the Army. I couldn't take the stares and the whispers that seemed to follow me wherever I went, and so I went to the big city looking for anonymity. Good men had died on my watch, and all I wanted now was a job that was a total no-brainer. So I answered an ad for a company that manufactured shorts. *Under*shorts. Not your typical Jockeys, Calvins or Hanes, this was really high scale stuff that cost as much for a single pair as my take home pay for a week! 

And I got to do a little modeling on the side. The buyers would want to see what the merchandise looked like, so I'd slip on a pair. They especially liked when I wore tighty whities. They liked the tighty whities a little *too*well. 

One finally got just a bit too grabby, and I punched him in the nose. That ended my career at Chacun a son Gout, Purveyors of Undergarments for the Discerning Gentleman, and my adventures in Metropolis. I returned home to Cascade, Washington. 

I was out pounding the pavement, looking for another job, when I ran into Simon Banks, an old friend who had been in law enforcement for a time. He had risen quite a bit in the world and now owned an answering service called Simon Says. It was for people who were technically challenged. 

In other words, they couldn't program their own answering machine. 

"They need the human touch," Simon liked to say. 

"You listening to Rick Springfield again, Simon?" I liked to razz him. 

He'd scowl at me, chomp down on that fat cigar he always had in his mouth, and point to my switchboard, which most likely would be flashing. 

Anyway, when Simon found out I was down to my last Andrew Jackson, and was contemplating a really desperate move, he offered me a job. "Listen,Ellison, it's only minimum wage, answering phones and taking messages, but it beats hell out of re-upping in the army! At least you won't be dumped in the wilds of Peru! And I'll even throw in the loft up on the third floor!" 

Hey, like I said, I was desperate. I took the job. I figured I was only going to keep it until I had enough in the kitty to move on, but a funny thing happened. I found I _liked_ the job! 

The people I worked with were pretty special, too. I'd always liked Simon, a big, no-nonsense black man who ran the business like he was still on the police force. Joel Taggert and Henri Brown, who worked opposite shifts, were so in love with each other, and so sweet together it made my fillings hurt. There was even an Aussie transplant, Megan Conner, who had a really large client list because everyone fell in love with her accent. 

Simon Says was in the basement of a residential building at 852 Prospect. Banks got away with it because he owned the whole freaking thing. 

You walked down five steps from the street level to a small, open area. There was a wrought iron bench before the window, which was covered with plantation shutters. Scattered around adding splashes of color were tubs of geraniums, red, pink, white, lavender. The front was surprisingly ... attractive. 

Inside were six cubicles set up with desks and switchboards, with room for more if Simon's business ever expanded that much. The walls were painted a virulent green, reminiscent of pease porridge that had been left in the pot for more than nine days, guaranteed to keep even a narcoleptic awake, although I was to learn it had no effect on Brown; he could fall asleep at the drop of a hat. And except for a lone picture of Richard Nixon getting on Air Force One for the last time, the walls were bare. 

Banks was my friend, but I never claimed to understand his taste in art. 

Simon had only one rule: keep it strictly to business. Get the message, get a phone number where the call could be returned, be polite. And above all, _don't_ get involved with the clients. 

Well, that was a little easier said than done. 

See, I was a sucker for a hard luck story. Take Ms. DeLuso, a single mom with a real weakness for a certain WB television show filled with teens and vampires. She called for her messages one evening and burst into tears, because her son, Angel, refused to eat his veggies. 

"Would he eat them for Santa, Ms. D?" I'd asked her. This kid was going to need all the help he could get, with a name like Angel. 

"Y...yes," she'd quavered. 

"Put him on the line." And that was how it started. Now every time he wouldn't try something new, his mom called 'Santa', and voila! 

There was Ingo/Inga, the KLM steward... stewardess... _flight attendant_ , who needed someone to practice his/her English on. "Oh, James, if only I meet you before I have this operation!" I'd commiserated, but secretly thanked my lucky stars. He/she was just a tad too feminine for my taste. 

Mr. Crewes was an older gentleman whose wife had recently passed away and who had no one to listen when he rambled on about his younger days. "Jimmy, I ever tell you about the time I spent a year in Philadelphia one week?" Unlike W. C. Fields, on the whole, Mr. Crewes would rather not have been in the city of brotherly love. 

Ginny Rhodes, an aspiring actress who waited tables, just wanted someone to tell her her dreams weren't wasted. "I really got a call back today, Jim?" The squeak of her voice almost pierced my eardrums, but I was happy for her. 

Above all the others, though, there was Blair Sandburg. I had all his novels, _in hardcover_ , and had even managed to get my copy of The Sentinel vs. Mara Bunta personally autographed. If my apartment ever caught fire, that was the one thing I would go back for. 

He'd gone through all the operators at Simon Says by the time I started there, and Simon didn't want to lose him. Dr. Sandburg was a high profile client. His book series, The Sentinel, had been translated into fourteen languages, and there was even talk of a television deal in development. 

I didn't expect to last much longer with him than the other operators, but for some reason, I got along with him really well, even when he'd call to collect his messages and go off on a tear about his editor, or his publisher. At first I listened, awed by his command of the language, but after about the fifth or sixth time I'd said, "Chief, fuck 'em if they can't take a joke!" 

//Oh, that was smart, Ellison!// I'd groaned under my breath, certain I had succeeded in stuffing my foot in my mouth, and he'd no longer want me as his operator. 

Blair had been stunned into silence, then gales of laughter swept over the phone. "Thanks, big guy. I needed that wake-up call. Sometimes I take myself too seriously!" 

And I let my breath out in relief. 

All I was supposed to do was take his messages, but before long I'd volunteered to do other things for him. Oh, not the things I would have _liked_ to do for him, just whatever he needed done. I reminded him of meetings with his publisher, of when his mom, Naomi's, birthday was approaching, made reservations at his favorite restaurants for his lover du jour. 

And when he was ready to break up with his current amour, I'd order the bouquet of farewell roses, one for each date they had been on. The bouquets were rarely larger than eighteen flowers, although once there had actually been twenty in the bunch. While he practiced serial monogamy, he rarely dated the same person for much longer than three weeks. 

It was that voice that drew them in, promising wild nights of uninhibited sex. Sandburg had a voice that was so sexy, the first time I heard it, at the book signing, all I wanted was for him to bend me over that table and fuck me stupid. 

I could come in my jeans, zoning on vowels and consonants as they flowed like honey from his mouth. 

Unfortunately, he went through lovers the way I went through Kleenex when my sinuses were acting up. As much as I might want him in my bed and in my body, I was not about to set myself up for heartache. 

Blair Sandburg told them, right up front, that he was searching for his heart's desire, and he wasn't settling for less. 

I believed him. The problem was, no one else did. 

* * *

Blair Sandburg was out of town for another book signing, and I was surprised when he called that night for his messages. I would have loved to chat with him, but it was a busy time, and Simon was lurking in his office. I gave Blair all his calls and regretfully hung up. 

It was three the next morning. Brown was dozing at his station, drooling all over his sleeve, and I was sitting in my cubicle, playing Solitaire with a beat-up old deck that only had fifty-one cards. 

The light for Sandburg's line blinked, and I plugged it in. "Dr. Sandburg's residence." 

"Hi, Jim." 

"Dr. Sandburg." I licked my lips. "I wasn't expecting you to call back tonight. Um, there are no new messages." 

"I didn't call for messages. Is this a bad time, Jim?" Oh, that voice! I felt as if it went straight to my cock and petted it. 

"No, Chief, this is fine. It's really dead this time of night." 

"I'm sitting here in my hotel room, bored out of my mind. I needed to hear a friendly voice." 

We stayed on the line for an hour that night, and we talked every night for the four weeks he was away. Every time his line lit up, my heart would give a thump. Every time after I disconnected, I sternly lectured myself on the folly of falling in love with him. 

Okay. I was okay. I was _not_ falling in love with him. 

* * *

Taggert was just going off-shift, and Brown was just coming on. "Hey, H! Better stay out of Simon's way! It's really hitting the fan!" 

"Hi, Sweetcheeks." Brown reached up to kiss his taller lover and set about plugging in his headset. "What's shaking?" 

"Baker fucked up again! Simon's got him in his office, and I think he'll be telling the pretty boy he's out on his saucy little ass." 

What did he mean, 'I think'? _I_ could hear Simon clearly, and Chuck Baker was definitely getting the boot! 

Henri mock glared at his long-time lover. "What do you know about Chuckle's ass, Joel Taggert?" 

"I can't help looking, sugar lips! The boy does know how to shake what his momma gave him!" 

"Just see that 'looking' is all you do!" 

My jeans grew a little snug as I overheard Joel whisper, "You gonna show me what happens when I'm a bad boy, H?" It always surprised me that they spoke so freely to each other when I was around, but they never seemed to realize I could hear them. 

The younger man flung himself out of Simon's office, sparing me further insight into the Taggert/Brown household. "I was doing all right by you, Banks!" he shouted at the boss, and I winced at the volume. "You got plenty of new customers because of me!" 

"You've got that ass backwards, Baker! Whatever customers I've gotten from you are the kind I don't need! And I've had nothing but complaints from the rest of your clients about you coming on to them! Tell your tale walking!" Simon snarled, and the operator/rent boy stormed towards the door. "This last complaint from Blair Sandburg is the final straw!" 

That got my attention with a vengeance. "Simon, is Dr. Sandburg canceling me...us?" I'd needed the night before off, a command performance by William Ellison, and Henri and Baker had split my list. If Baker had caused my favorite customer to void his contract with the answering service, I'd go after the little asshole and tear him a new one. 

Simon's cigar was mutilated to the point of uselessness. He pulled it out of his mouth and glared at it, then at the departing back of his former employee. "No, Jim. He was really good about the whole thing, just asked to be notified ahead of time if you were ever going to be away again." 

"Yeah?" That made me feel good. Blair's... Dr. Sandburg's... voice was the sexiest...I mean the most _soothing_... of all the people I dealt with, and I would have been devastat... _sorry_ to lose him. "Well, dinner with my father was a failure. I don't know why I'm surprised. He says this time he's had it, and if I want to waste my life taking phone messages then he's washing his hands of me." 

"Ah, Jim, doesn't he realize that one day all this will be yours?" My boss waved his hand expansively to indicate the room and its occupants. It was a running gag with us. We all knew that one day this would belong to his son, Daryl. 

"Be still my heart." 

Taggert and Brown watched with amusement. "Hey, boss, last time I looked, Lincoln freed the slaves!" 

Simon glared at them. "Taggert, aren't you supposed to be gone? Brown, Ellison, don't I hear bells ringing? Why don't I hear anyone answering the goddamned phones?" 

I watched wistfully as Joel snagged a final kiss from his lover and sauntered out into the balmy evening of a Cascade summer. It had been a very long time since anyone had kissed me like that. Since anyone had kissed me at all. 

I plugged in my headset and went to work. 

* * *

"Sandburg residence." "Oh, one moment, please." " _Jim_!" 

I waved to let Henri Brown know I had heard him, but continued with my conversation. I had made my voice very deep. "Just remember, Angel, even Santa has to eat his spinach!" I listened to the child on the other end of the line. "All right, Angel. Since you've been a good boy: Ho, ho, ho!" 

I smiled at the happy giggles that greeted my compliance with the little boy's request. 

His mother came back on. "Thank you so much, Santa," she said in a very loud voice, and I winced. My hearing was acting up again. Ms. DeLuso lowered her voice. "Thank you, Jim. I can't tell you what a help you've been! This is the _best_ answering service!" 

"My pleasure, Ms. D. Anytime. Good luck with the spinach!" I disconnected the call and plugged in to Blair Sandburg's line. Now that he was home again, I knew it wasn't likely he'd be calling to chat. I wondered who would be leaving messages vowing undying love for the handsome young man. 

"Dr. Sandburg's residence." 

"Jim? Hi, it's me!" 

"Dr. Sandburg?" It was him! "Hi, Chief!" I suddenly realized my voice had dropped an octave and grown flirty, and I cleared my throat. "How...er...how did the book signing go?" 

"It went. I'm still trying to catch up on all the sleep I lost. Thirty-three cities in twenty-eight days! I'm really wiped, man! I'd like nothing better than to crash for a hundred years!" 

The sound of his voice nearly overcame me. It led to the hottest fantasies, where I pictured myself sprawled on a bed and undulating to his touch, pleading with him to do whatever he wanted with my body. In fact, I was so distracted by the warm, husky tones and the images of satin sheets and sweaty sex that I ignored my ears telling me he was not calling from his apartment. If he was using a date's phone, I didn't want to think about it. 

Instead, I struggled to battle down a raging hard on. He liked me, maybe more than liked me. He'd made that obvious during the months I'd been his operator, and especially over the last four weeks, but I wasn't about to hand him my heart, to have it returned as bloody hamburger at the end of the month. I murmured something innocuous. 

Blair took a breath. "I...uh...I missed you last night." 

"I'm very sorry about that incident, Dr. Sandburg, and I promise it won't happen again!" 

"Not a problem, Jim. I'm a big boy; I could handle it. As I said, I missed you... missed talking to you." 

I wanted to hear him tell me stuff like that, but I couldn't let him. "Your messages, Dr. Sandburg. I have a stack of them right here..." Glumly I wondered how soon before the merry-go-round started up again, and he had a new love to date. 

"Um, Jim? Where were you last night?" 

"Your editor wants you to call... Excuse me?" 

"I was wondering where you were last night." 

"Oh... uh... I had a dinner engagement I couldn't avoid, Dr. Sandburg." I licked my lips, reminded myself to breathe, and reached for the next slip of paper. 

"Blair." 

"Excuse me?" I was starting to sound like a broken record. 

"Or Chief. I like when you call me Chief." I could hear the pounding of his heart over the phone line, and his increased respirations. I wanted to nuzzle his jaw, worry his earlobe, dip my tongue into his ear. Hell, why stop there? I wanted my lips on his mouth, brushing gently back and forth, increasing the pressure until he opened and let me in to explore, twining my tongue with his tongue. 

"Jim! Answer me, big guy! Are you all right?" 

"S...sorry, Chief. Dr. Sandburg." I shook my head, amazed that the sound of his voice was able to bring me out of a zone. "I'm okay." 

"Well, if you're sure..." He began speaking rapidly, as if he'd come to a sudden decision. "I've been giving this a lot of thought, Jim, and I want to meet you." 

"What?" What did he mean, he wanted to meet me? 

"I want to see you. As in face to face? In the... flesh?" 

I must have said something out loud, because he gave a muffled laugh. 

"I want to take you out to dinner. I'll pick you up, take you to a nice restaurant, bring you home. A date, you know? Nothing more, I promise! Well, maybe a kiss at the door. Say yes, Jim," he pleaded. 

Oh, hell, was it my turn to be the flavor of the month? "I'm sorry, Dr. Sandburg, that's against policy." 

"Jim..." 

"No. I can't. I'm sorry." I rattled off the rest of his messages and hung up, then pulled the plug from the switchboard with a vicious yank. Henri was watching me from his cubicle, a little smirk on his face. "What, H?" 

"Why don't you put the both of you out of your misery and let him take you to bed?" 

"Why don't you eat dirt and die, Brown!" I flung myself back into my chair and glared at the lights that blinked sporadically across my board. 

* * *

The next night when Blair Sandburg called for his messages, he asked me to dinner again. 

I turned him down. 

Every night for the next two weeks, he asked me to dinner. And every night I refused. 

And I noticed something funny. Funny strange, not funny ha-ha. The only messages that were called in were professional, or were from his mother. 

He didn't ask me to make dinner reservations at The Andes Cafe, or La Cueva. No women called, trying to charm Sandburg's cell phone number out of me. No men offering to get me tickets to the next Jags' game if I would just reveal those ten little digits. 

I glanced at the post-it I had tacked to my note board. 

* _The follies which a man regrets most in his life are those which he didn't commit when he had the opportunity._ * 

I made my decision. For some reason, Blair Sandburg had no one in his life. I was going to take the leap, and at least I'd have something other than regrets to remember. 

On the dot, his line began blinking. I took a deep breath and made sure I was centered. "Dr. Sandburg's residence." 

"Jim, I want you to..." 

"Yes." 

"...have dinner...What?" 

"Yes. I'll have dinner with you." I could actually _hear_ the smile splitting his face. 

"You will? Cool! I'll pick you up after work." 

"Um, Chief, my shift ends at six in the morning." 

"We could go to Tony's 24-Hour Grill." 

"Oh. Yeah, sure." //You're an asshole, Ellison. What did you think, he was going to take you somewhere classy? Get with the program! You'll get coffee with a cock to go, and that will be all he wrote.// 

"...will that be all right?" 

"Sorry, Dr. Sandburg, I missed that." 

He might not have Sentinel hearing, but he noticed how chill my voice had grown, and he seemed to lose his effervescence. "I just asked if you wanted to go to La Cueva on Saturday evening as well?" 

"La Cueva?" That was the Peruvian restaurant on Valiette Street. He _would_ have taken me someplace nice! I hardly minded at all that I wouldn't be able to make it. "I'm sorry, Chief. Saturday isn't one of my nights off," I told him regretfully. As much as I wanted to sample the cuisine of Peru again, its appetizers alone cost an arm and a leg. "That's a little on the expensive side too, isn't it, Blair?" 

"I can afford it, Jim." There was relief in his voice. "Can't you change shifts with someone else?" He wanted to take me out so badly? To my astonishment, he murmured, "I want to take you out so badly!" 

"You... you do?" I wished I had worn sweat pants. My jeans felt as if they were strangling my dick. "I'll see what I can do. Meanwhile, your publisher needs a call back. He wants to know how the first draft is coming along..." 

* * *

As soon as I hung up, I put in a call to Megan, almost breaking a finger in my rush. "It's Jim. I hope I haven't disturbed you..." 

"What in freaking hell are you calling me for this time of night, James Ellison?" 

"I need a favor." 

I could hear her brush the hair out of her eyes. "And this couldn't have waited until a decent hour?" 

"I'm sorry, Megan. I've got a date with Blair Sandburg, and I ... I'm sorry, I should have waited ..." 

"Hold on a tic, mate! _You've_ got a date? Well halle-bloody-lejah!" 

"I resent that!" I groused. "You make it sound as if I never have a date!" 

"Jim." Her voice was pitying. "When was the last time you went out with *any*one socially?" 

"Uh..." 

"Case closed. So, you need me to cover for you?" For someone I had awakened out of a sound sleep, she was remarkably alert. 

"Yes. This Saturday." 

"No worries, mate!" 

"Thanks, Megan." I let out a sigh of relief. "I owe you." 

"And you _will_ pay! G'night, Jim." 

The lights on my switchboard were blinking frantically, and I went back to work. For once I couldn't wait for 6 A.M. to roll around. 

* * *

I was courting Jim Ellison. 

I couldn't believe the situation in which I found myself. I had never seen the man, yet here I was, wooing him via the telephone. I had to wonder how Alexander Graham Bell would have felt about my use of his invention. 

I'd called Jim every single night for the entire length of my book tour. At first I told myself it was just to collect my messages, but that excuse didn't wash for long. I just wanted to hear his voice in my ear. And then I started to fantasize about his tongue in my ear. And then about a certain part of my body buried balls deep in a certain part of his. 

I felt...settled. I'd never had a relationship last longer than a few weeks, but somehow I'd always known that when I found the right one I'd love him better than microwaveable popcorn and X-rated movies. I had never met James Ellison, but I knew that my roving days were over. 

The problem was, he was the one who had made dinner reservations for my numerous dates, and who had ordered the bouquets of roses when I ended the affairs. Would he believe me when I told him that he was the one I wanted? 

Of course he wouldn't. 

I wasn't a sentinel, but even I could hear the panic in his voice as he refused my invitation to dinner. I wasn't about to give up, however. 

It took two weeks, but finally he agreed to have dinner with me. I didn't want to wait until the end of the week to see him, so I persuaded him to join me for breakfast. 

At just after six in the morning he emerged from the dim recess of the basement stairs, and my breath clogged in my throat and my dick got hard. Well, harder. 

And I recognized him! He was the man from the book signing, from the magazine cover! I could never forget those ice blue eyes! I straightened up from the lamppost and crossed to meet him. 

* * *

I climbed the steps to the street level, and there, leaning casually against a streetlamp, was the stuff that dreams were made of. Blair's eyes seemed to swallow up his face when he saw me, and then they lit up, making me feel as if I were the center of his world. 

He came toward me and rubbed his hand on my arm. "Hi, Jim." 

My mouth was so dry I could barely speak. I caught a strand of his hair, which had escaped from the thong that confined it, and tugged lightly. "Chief." 

His smile became broader, if that was possible, and he pulled me toward his car. "Let's go get something to eat." 

Tony's 24-Hour Grill, a greasy spoon on one of the less appetizing sides of Cascade, was owned by Sam Mancini, who was also the cook. No one could ever find out who 'Tony' was, and why his name was stenciled across the window, but since Sam made the best hash browns west of the Rockies, no one was inclined to question him about it. 

He looked up from the grill, where he was in the process of flipping silver dollar pancakes. I knew from experience that if you got to Tony's any time after 6:30, there would be no pancakes left. Sam grinned around the cigarette that dangled from his mouth. "Jimbo! You're just in time! I've got a stack of hotcakes with your name on them!" His eyes widened as he took in the younger man who had held the door for me and was now at my side. "Blair! How they hanging? It's been too long, my man!" 

"Uh, you know Dr. Sandburg, Sam?" 

"You bet, Jim! I used to feed him when he was a penniless undergrad! Take a seat, gentlemen. Yvonne, get your sweet tush over to Blair's usual table and start slinging some hash!" 

Blair ushered me to a table at the rear of the dinner, his hand warm on the small of my back. I wanted to lean into his touch. 

"Hey, Jimbo, did you know Tony's is featured in all of Blair's Sentinel books? Boy, business really picked up after the first one came out! Really saved my ass!" 

"That was a nice thing to do, Chief!" I accepted the cup of coffee from Yvonne and smiled, but I was watching my da... companion. I wouldn't think of this as a date. If I didn't think of this as a date, I still had them all in front of me. 

A warm blush started beneath the open collar of his Henley, and I wondered what the skin above his pulse would taste like. The air was so redolent with pheromones; I was surprised there wasn't a line around the block waiting to be jumped by him. 

His grin was lopsided, revealing his discomfort at being caught out doing a good deed, and he shrugged. "It was the least I could do, Jim. Naomi isn't much of a homebody, and if it wasn't for Sam, I would have starved!" 

"That would have been a real waste, Chief!" I rubbed the back of his wrist. He turned his hand under mine, and his fingertips caressed my palm. 

Yvonne brought our breakfasts, interrupting the private moment. She placed the pancakes before me. My eyes widened at what she presented Blair. The plate was huge, and on it were three eggs, over easy, three breakfast links, three strips of bacon, three fluffy, hungry man-sized pancakes, and an order of toast on the side. I had never before seen anyone order Sam's 'three to the fourth' breakfast, and I watched in awe as Blair demolished it with no effort at all. 

* * *

Sandburg was outside Simon Says every morning, waiting to take me to breakfast, and I wondered if he considered them dates. I hoped not, because if they were my time with Blair would be running short. But he didn't say anything, and I was afraid to ask. 

Finally came the big night. I'd begged off the usual after work breakfast... _breakfast_ , and spent the day cleaning the already spotless loft. I grabbed a nap, then put lavender sheets on the bed. Maybe he'd come up after our date, and I wanted everything to be perfect. 

Maybe I'd get lucky. 

No, lavender was too girly. I changed the sheets to the ones with a grey and black geometric pattern, but they gave me a headache, so I stripped the bed and remade it again, this time with pale green sheets. 

The phone rang as I was trying to decide if the blue ones that matched his eyes would be more suitable. I scowled at the bed, then hurried down to the living room and answered the phone. "Dr. Sandburg's..." I bit my tongue, not surprised at my automatic response. "Sorry, this is Ellison." 

I heard the soft laughter over the line. "It's Blair, Jim." 

My heart slammed into my throat. He was going to cancel. "Is...is something wrong, Chief?" 

"Not at all, big guy. I just wanted to say hi. I missed hearing your voice." 

I got so hard I thought my dick would poke a hole through my shorts. I licked my lips and whispered, "Hi." 

"Hi," he sighed softly, and the word burrowed deep inside me. "I'll...uh... I'll pick you up at eight?" 

"Oh yeah," I echoed his sigh. I imagined the feeling of his palms stroking over my chest, my nipples, and I extended my hearing, hoping to hear... what? That he was lingering on the line? I realized I was close to zoning on the monotonous drone of the dial tone and hung up the phone. 

Dinner that night must have been good, but afterwards, I'd never be able to remember what we ate. I was so lost in the blue of my companion's eyes that I could have been served a meal of twigs and leaves, and I would have declared it delicious. We lingered over coffee and liqueur, and then Blair drove me home and escorted me back up to my apartment. 

He crowded me back against the door and leaned his weight along my body. His lips and teeth started blazing a path from the skin above my collar up to my earlobe. He took it between his teeth and worried it gently. 

"Would you..." I groaned as his palm rubbed over the front of my dress trousers. "... like to come in for a nightcap, Chief?" 

"I don't think that would be a good idea, Jim, because..." 

Of course he wouldn't. Who had I been trying to fool? He was young and famous, and could have his choice of lovers. What would he want with a beat up old, ex-Army captain like me." 

"Well." I swallowed hard and tried to straighten. "Thank you for..." 

Blair continued as if I hadn't spoken, nibbling on the hinge of my jaw between words. "If I come in for a nightcap, I'll be staying for breakfast." He pulled back to see how I would react to his declaration. 

"Chief!" I ground my groin against him and let him feel how ready I was as I fumbled for my key. "How do you like your eggs?" 

* * *

I was leaking pre come and shaking by the time I got Jim on his hands and knees on his bed, and had already had to squeeze the base of my cock twice to keep from coming. 

He settled himself comfortably, and a stab of jealousy went through me. "You've done this before, big guy?" I asked as I watched him place a pillow under his hips. He handed me a tube of lubricant and a condom. 

"It's been a long time, Chief. I haven't wanted anyone in... 

I put the lube aside for the moment and stroked his back, kissing and licking the long muscles. I would make this so good for him he would forget everyone who came before me. 

"Please, Chief!" 

I squirted some lube on my fingers and began preparing him, rubbing it across his hole and then pressing into him. His back tensed, and I soothed him. Before too long he was thrusting back to take more of my finger. 

He growled approval when I pushed a second finger into him and curved them, searching for his prostate. His groan told me when I found it, and I made sure I rubbed it repeatedly. 

I managed to get the condom on with one hand and give it a thick coating of lubricant, then put the head of my cock to his hole. The tight muscle relaxed beneath the onslaught, and I slid into him, hitting his prostate, and startling a whine from him. I reached around to take his cock in my hand and pumped him vigorously. I knew this first time would be fast for both of us, and before too long he was spilling himself into my palm. His climax dragged me into my own, and I came with a howl. 

The rippling aftershocks milked me of the last of my orgasm, and I collapsed bonelessly across my lover's back, painting patterns over his chest with his semen. I brought my hand to my mouth and lazily licked off the remainder. 

"You taste good, Jim." I eased out of him and removed the condom, knotted it and aimed for the wastebasket. Fortunately, my aim was spot on. "He shoots, he scores! Yes!" 

"Yeah, you did score, didn't you, Chief?" He rolled to the edge of the bed, got to his feet and went downstairs. 

"Jim?" What was wrong? I heard water running in the bathroom. 

My lover came back up with a warm washcloth, which he tossed in my direction. Obviously he had cleaned himself off already. 

"Jim?" 

"How much time do I have, Chief?" He paced away from the bed. 

"What?" 

"Normally you're more articulate than that, aren't you?" He paced back. 

"Are you trying to pick a fight with me? Geez, Jim, what are you, mental?" 

"Look, Chief. I just want to know where I stand. How long before I order a goddamned bouquet of fucking roses for myself?" 

"Never." Oh, Jesus, had I fucked up beyond redemption? 

"How long before I'm making reservations for you to take some bimbo to _our_ place?" 

"Did you hear me, Jim? I said 'never'." Why wasn't he listening to me? 

"How long before...Oof!" 

I had had enough. I tackled him down to the bed, plastered my body on his and manacled his hands beside his head. "Listen to me, you... you big _dope_!" I wouldn't let him look away. "I've fucked a lot of people, I can't deny it, and I'm not even going to try. But this is the first time I've ever made love to anyone!" My hands released his wrists and dropped to his shoulders, giving him a hard shake. "Do you understand what I'm telling you?" 

His ice blue eyes burned hot. One hand went around my waist, holding me firmly on top of him. The other fisted in my hair, keeping my head immobile while he plundered my mouth. We were both breathless when he finally released my lips. "So we're talking forever here, Chief?" 

"You got it, big guy!" 

"Happily ever after?" 

"Jim, until the end of time! I love you!" 

He sighed and nuzzled my throat. "I like the sound of that." 

"Well?" 

"Well, what?" 

I raised my head and glared at him through the hair that had fallen over my eyes. "I tell you I love you, it's only polite for you to reciprocate!" 

"Oh, you mean I didn't?" He laughed at my growl, and curled his palm over my jaw. "I do, Blair. More than microwaveable popcorn and X-rated movies!" 

"Oh!" And before I could say another word, he pulled my mouth down for another kiss. 

* * *

"Sandburg-Ellison residence. No, I'm very sorry, Miss. Dr. Sandburg isn't available any longer." 

* * *

End You Gotta Ring Them Bells by Tinnean: Tinneantoo@aol.com

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Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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